Sam

Returning to Hell-5, Sam caught the tail end of the final first-round match in the A-Bracket, where a Farmer went up against an Explorer—the latter of whom she recognized as the man with the dog she had seen in the preliminaries. The Explorer, who was called Holden, came out on top by letting his familiar maul the other guy while Holden immobilized him with webs shot out of his hands. Once the Farmer lost his footing, the dog ripped out his throat to finish the job.

Number Three eventually found Sam and dragged her back to the tent, where Mongrel had some choice words about her running off.

“Let her do as she likes, Matthew,” Nyx said sharply, fussing over a nonplussed Number Five with a comb. “Keeping her cooped up in here leaves her nothing to do but work up nerves, and that will hardly improve her performance, will it?”

“Suppose so,” Mongrel grumbled. “Still, she should have cleared it with us first.”

“I promise I’ll submit a detailed proposal next time I need to blow my nose or take a shit,” Sam said, and laughed at Mongrel's resulting scowl. She had Number Two make some space on the empty chest so she could take a seat next to him.

Serene soon returned from her tending to Ratcatcher, looking weary.

“How’s he holding up?” Sam asked.

“Not great,” Serene replied, “but he should be on his feet before the second round, at least. He’s decided to keep fighting.”

Sam nodded. She couldn’t help but worry about her new friend, but she’d seen what he could do. She needed to have faith in him, the same way everyone else had faith in her. At least, she hoped they did.

Serene then held a small lecture on Sam’s next opponent, the Trader named Jax. “Do you know what resurrectionism is?” she began by asking.

“Isn’t that the religion of people who think the goddess is going to come back if they pray a bunch?” Sam replied.

“Pretty much. Jax used to be one of them, but he left because his methods took a bit of an… extreme turn. He thinks that the only way Era will return is if humans cull all the sinners and infidels from our population, and thereby prove to the goddess that we have repented our ways.”

“He sounds like he’d be a lot of fun at parties.”

Serene blew out her cheeks in a long sigh. “You don’t know the half of it, babe. He’s also one of those guys who talks way too much in the afterglow.”

“Duly noted.”

“In terms of fighting, since he’s a Trader, he doesn’t have access to Toughness, Strength, or Dexterity, meaning you outmatch him big-time when it comes to physical stats.

“Based on his performance in the first round, I’m guessing he’s going to try and wear you down by using skills that stall you and force you to waste energy. Traders have access to a lot of mental attacks, so that’s mainly what you need to watch out for.”

Sam frowned. “That’s good and all, but how do you even defend against a mental attack?”

“It’s really not that difficult. Keep your attention sharp and focus on rejecting anything external. Some people find it useful to create images to aid in that. For example, I imagine myself stepping into a small, cozy cottage and locking the door so no one can disturb me inside.”

Sam must have looked confused, because Serene smiled sadly and said: “There’s a surprising amount of politics involved in doing what I do. If you don’t learn to keep your secrets close to your chest, you’ll get dead or taken advantage of, probably sooner rather than later.”

“I’m sorry, Cherry.”

Serene raised a shimmering eyebrow. “Cherry?”

“Yeah, like, as a nickname. Do you like it?”

The dark-haired woman gave a small, inscrutable smile. “You can call me whatever you like, babe. I’m not picky. And in any case, you shouldn’t feel sorry for me. I’ve made my bed, and I’m going to lie in it, whatever bedfellows I end up with.”

“That might be one of the most depressing things I’ve ever heard.”

Serene laughed melodically, the bright notes soured by bitterness. “Then you haven’t spent enough time on the Frontier. There’s no happy here, just shades of miserable—you notwithstanding, apparently.”

Sam shrugged, smiling. “I can’t help being my sweet little self.”

Nyx cleared her throat. Arms crossed, the sharp nails of her left hand tapped impatiently against her slim right upper arm. “Serene, darling? Maybe we ought to finish strategizing before we dispense with small talk.” She put a strange inflection on the name—sharp, somehow, like a knife being drawn.

Serene’s eyes quickly flitted to the ground, and her head sank in an almost-bow. “Yes, most calamitous. Of course.”

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Sam looked between the woman and the not-person, rolling her tongue around a bad taste in her mouth. “Nyx, why are you giving my friend orders? Do you know each other?”

“Do relax, Samantha—it was only a friendly suggestion,” the demoness said in an airy, lightly patronizing tone, making her breasts bounce as she went up on her tiptoes and dropped back down on her heels, as though to mark an end to the discussion.

Sam’s eyes narrowed in a suspicious squint. “No, it wasn’t.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“She’s afraid of you. What did you say to her?”

“Why, nothing at all, dear. She is familiar with me by professional reputation, and so has graciously placed herself at my disposal. That’s all.”

“In that case, as of this second she’s not at your disposal anymore.”

“Please let it go,” Serene cut in, gaze still downturned. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“No can do. Sorry to say, but I’m not just stubborn—I’m meddlesome, too.”

“Can we just—” Mongrel began.

“Shush now, Matthew,” Nyx interrupted, tossing a withering glare his way, “the adults are talking.”

Mongrel looked like he was about to say something else, mouth hanging open, then clicked his teeth shut and shook his head, muttering something under his breath that might have been ‘Women’.

“I’ll be happy to continue my conversation with Cherry,” Sam went on, and pointed at Nyx, “once you’ve left.”

The demoness scoffed, twirling a strand of perfectly voluminous hair around her finger. “Stubborn, meddlesome, and forgetful, are we? We’ve been over this already—you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

“In that case, I’ll drop out of the tournament.”

Nyx laughed, a little too loud to sound natural. “And why should I care one whit about that?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t we try it and find out?”

“As threats go, that really is pathetic. It’s a non-starter to begin with. You—”

“I’m what? Too stubborn to drop out? Try ‘too stubborn to lose an argument’.”

Nyx’s jaw worked silently, her bared canines scraping off each other. “I refuse to leave,” she spat.

Sam crossed her arms. “Then you’ll apologize to my friend, and promise not to bother her in the future.”

“You have no right to treat me like some human child.”

“Why not? You don’t seem to have any trouble acting like one.”

The demoness lunged forward, her features contorting into a terrible snarl of rage, fingers curling into claws. She fell short only inches from Sam’s face, teeth bared, a glow of fire smoldering at the back of her throat. Sam did not blink.

“Yes, you’re very scary,” Sam said dully, “but you’re the one wasting time right now. Whatever you’re going to do, be about it quick. I’m losing my patience with you, demon.”

Nyx held her predatory posture a few moments longer, then slunk back, seeming to wither under the confused stare Mongrel directed at her.

It took her five tries to get out a decent apology. Serene looked more horrified at that than when the demon had been threatening bloody murder.

Sam, for one, was well pleased that she had read Nyx’s motives correctly. Will would have been proud.

Once everyone knew where everyone else stood, Sam turned her attention back to Serene. “Cherry,” she said, “would you help me do some makeup for the next match? I have an idea I want to try out.”

Serene looked apprehensive. “Uh… what kind of idea are we talking about, exactly?”

Sam grinned. “You’ll see.”

“You’re not even going to tell me?”

“It’ll be a nice surprise when we get started. So, will you help?”

“I… guess so, yeah.”

“Great! Thanks! Oh, and I think we’ll need to arrange a bit of a wardrobe change, too.”

The other woman looked like she was regretting her decision already.

* * *

Sam stepped into the Hell-5 pit to a tide of riotous booing. Arms extended, she laughed and greeted her adoring fans, then put a cupped hand to her ear to indicate that she wanted to hear more.

A blindfolded man stepped out of the subterranean tunnel on the opposite end of the ring, heavy timber doors creaking shut behind him. He was rangy and sharp-featured, but looked more awkward than athletic, which matched what Serene had said about his not having access to the more physical attributes.

Sam, wearing a sequined pink vest and shiny green trousers, arms and neck and face painted with rainbow swirls, danced out to the center of the pit while Golden Boy did his usual introductions. She struck a double bicep pose to show off the peace symbols Serene had drawn on them, which drew another wave of derision.

The organizer was wrapping up and looked about ready to begin the match, but Sam waved him down with eager gestures until, slowly and reluctantly, he dipped down on his invisible strings to hover just above Sam. She motioned that she wanted his voice-amplifying scepter to speak into, and after some deliberation he handed over his gem-encrusted implement.

“Great to see so many of you here!” Sam shouted into the sphere at the top, and her voice boomed across the pit and beyond, cutting through the chaos of voices. “I’m here for one reason, and one reason only—to beat some love and friendship into that fucker over there!” She jabbed the scepter in her opponent’s direction, then put it back to her mouth. “No one dies as long as I’m the one left standing! Why?” She let an artful pause drag out. “Because I…” She struck a side chest pose, struggling only slightly to keep the amplifier up to her mouth. “Am…” She transitioned into a most muscular pose. “The Peaceful Fist!” And finally, a grinning lat spread. “Fuck you all, and have a good night!”

Her speech was met with an unparalleled level of vitriol from the crowd, booing and hissing and insults of every shade—some of which got very personal and impressively creative.

Once finished, she hurled the scepter, sent it spinning in a high arc, and Golden Boy scrambled to snatch it out of the air. “WELL, WELL, THAT WAS QUITE AN ENTRANCE FROM OUR COLORFUL FRIEND! LET’S SEE IF HER COMPETITION HAS ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT THAT, SHALL WE?” He flew across the ring, little white wings fluttering uselessly in the wind, and glided to a halt before the Diplomat, holding the scepter out to the blindfolded man. “THERE’S AN AMPLIFIER IN FRONT OF YOU NOW. TELL ME, FRIEND—WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE SELF-PROCLAIMED ‘PEACEFUL FIST’, EH?”

“She’s a blasphemer, attempting to appropriate the goddess’s grace,” Jax intoned in a low voice. Even amplified, it was difficult to make out his words. “I will enjoy making a holy sacrifice of her body.”

That, it seemed, was all he had to say on the matter. The cheers he got were a little confused at first, but made up for it in volume as more and more people joined in. Despite what Sam had heard about resurrectionists and their reputation in the city, it seemed that folk were happy enough to cheer one on, as long as he was standing against her.

She grinned, and struck an easy, shoulder-first fighting stance on light feet.

They will have booed themselves hoarse by the time I’m done tonight, she thought to herself.

The horn sounded its banshee screech, and Sam began moving toward her opponent.